In twenty days another faction forms among discontented humans, but a galaxy of twenty-nines appears on land, forest, streets, and buildings before they can perform their first atrocity. They are frightened off. Eight days later, a lone Drac suicide bomber lets its pain drive it north of Douglasville where The Peace stops it dead. The executioner found it unnecessary to leave a twenty-nine. Those who live on the street marked it with the numbers.
More come forward to join The Peace, the Mavedah donates two additional ships to the Navi Di, and the Front retaliates by setting up Navi Di offices and observers in all their units. Four months after Davidge earned his blade, Green Fire officially disbands.
Cudak, Kita, and I are the authorization team, and I hardly look at her. Of all of those I blame for Will Davidge’s death, second only to myself, I blame Kita. It makes no sense, but in my entire life, where had sense ever been a part? I do not accept his death, although the entire planet of Amadeen seems to have accepted it, taking it on as an icon.
There are things I wanted to do.
There are things I wanted Davidge to be there to see.
That foolish child inside me, the one who cries "unfair!" is still there.
From the shadows I watch the mists and find so much of my purpose for peace gone; so much of my purpose for life gone. As I watch the night avians race through the haze below, I feel a hand on my arm. Without looking I know it is Kita. "What is it?"
"There is someplace we have to go."
I look at her and notice for the first time how puffy her face seems. "Where?"
"Gitoh."
"Why?"
"The Mavedah has opened it up."
I look back at the fog. "What is in Gitoh?"
"Something Will wanted you to see. It was his last wish."
The thin scab across the wound of my grief is scraped clear with a few words. Numbly I follow her across the clearing and into the Aeolus.
In less than an hour the ship puts down in Gitoh. At first the inhabitants look upon us with suspicion, until they see the twenty-nines marked on our armbands. There are waves, a cheer. There is a Drac who meets us and it leads the way between the bombed-out buildings of the city. The streets are cleared of rubble and the bomb craters filled in. There is a small business repairing appliances in a burned-out building. Another business sells seeds and food plants. A third business sells old clothes. At the end of one street is a pile of rubble that once must have been a huge building. When we reach it, there are twenty or so local Dracs there, all wearing their shabby best. Part of the bottom of the building has been painfully excavated and there is a concrete stairway going down. There is no electricity and the stairs are illuminated with candles. I look at Kita. "What is this place?"
She nods. "These are the archives of about sixty lines here in Gitoh. It has been over twelve years since they’ve been used. The Yazi archives are here."
We enter one of the sub-basements. The candles fill the huge room with a warm yellow light. The room is filled with Dracs and a few humans. Some I recognize, most I do not. There is an open armored shelf containing ornate books of various thicknesses. A blue-robed Jetah takes a very thin book from this shelf and places it on a podium.
I stop dead and face Kita. "I cannot do this! I am not prepared." I lower my gaze to the floor mosaic and speak to her in a whisper. "He is not here. I wanted him to be here for me the way he was there for so many others."
Kita looks up at me and smiles. "He is here, Ro."
I shake my head. "No, the only ghosts I believe in are evil."
"Ro, he is here," she insists. I look at her and she is holding her palms pressed flat against her middle.
I am so stupid. She is carrying Will’s child. I take her in my arms and hold her. Her arms steal about my waist and we stand there until all pain turns to love. At last she looks up at me. "I have a letter from Will. He wrote it the night before he died. It’s for you."
"What―what does it say?"
"I haven’t read it."
I release her and she reaches into a pocket and hands me an envelope. I break the seal, take out the sheet, and open it.
Dear Ro ,
On this day you begin the rites to become an adult. Know that I am very proud of you and that I believe you will continue to grow and improve upon the especially valuable being you already are. I once told you that I wish I could have been there to watch you grow. From when I first met you on Friendship through all of our time together, until here on Amadeen, I have watched you grow and celebrated your accomplishments. I have gotten my wish.
My love is with you always,
Uncle Willy.
As I look at that Uncle Willy signature, I can almost see him with that mischievous smile on his face. I look at Kita, hand her the letter, and face the Gitoh Archivist.
It reveals itself to me, as The Talman said the steps of the universe’s plan of my life would. In time there will be a relaxation of the quarantine and I will travel to Sindie on Draco to tell Matope, the veteran in the wheelchair, that we have remembered and the war is done. From there I will go to Timan to honor my promise to Lahvay ni 'do Timan, Dakiz of the Ri Mou Tavii, to teach his students the problem and the peace of Amadeen. Afterward, I will go to Friendship, find a cave, and help Kita and the Jeriba line teach her child how to gather the wood, smoke the snake, and withstand the winter. From there I will see where talma leads.
Before you here I stand, Ro of the line of Yazi,
Born of Avo, the teacher of English,
Student of Willis Davidge, the giver of peace…
ESSAYS
ON ALIEN LANGUAGES
Okay, it’s 1978, well into the first year of my writing career, I have a few Momus and Circus World stories under my belt, and I am currently possessed by the writing of a story called "Enemy Mine," the telling of which has become something of a need. My $20.00 rebuilt IBM Selectric is humming, the paper is in place, and the title is on the paper. My fingers hit the keys and the human in my story flexes his fingers and thinks murder, while the alien does the same. The alien opens its mouth and says…
Well, what in the hell does it say?
"Irkmaan!"
You know, "Earthman" with a bad accent.
Do these as-yet unnamed and almost undescribed aliens pronounce "th" as "k"? Do they pronounce "man" with a broad double "a" because of their strong Jamaican roots?
Issues for another time. The story wants to be told and there will be no rest until it is done. In those stirring days of yesteryear, I wrote short stories by starting and not stopping until the thing was finished. Try that with a twenty-thousand-word novella sometime.
The human eggs the alien on with a few, "C’mon, put up your dukes!" phrases, and the alien retorts, "Irkmaan vaa, koruum su!"